A black turtleneck and heavy scarf hide the remainder of my shame. The top of the brand peeks out from under the scarf. My hands instinctively move to the black marks. They no longer burn, no longer control me.
But for how long?
Trepidation tosses my stomach as acid swirls up my throat, coating my tongue. I pretend I’m fine. Pretend my life is fine.
If only.
Registration takes moments, Gabriel made sure of that. I get my books and walk to class. Every shadow whispers to me. Azza is out there. Somewhere. He will seek his revenge.
He always does.
How can I fight what I can’t see? What I can’t sense? Will the angels who sent me here protect me? Can they? How long will this mortal life last? Not long, I think. Too many questions I can never answer.
Staring at the schedule, I read the name. Aydan Johnson. Just like before. I walk into European History. The teacher assigns me a seat at an empty table.
Good.
No one to bother me. No one to voice the things I cannot say. I think about the past Gabriel has constructed for me. A broken home with parents long dead. The tragedy of that story mirrors my own.
School passes in a blur, one class into the next. One day into the next. There has to be more to this life. More than the loneliness I can’t seem to escape.
Another month passes. And then another. I have no friends. Speak to no one. Azza will send spies to tempt me. Demons dressed up as friends.
I trust no one.
My dreams have turned into waking memories. Images of Nesy are permanently burned into my thoughts. I see every detail of her face painted in the landscape around me. I feel her touch on my skin whenever the wind blows.
And I remember how it felt when she died in my arms.
The scenes of that time repeat over and over in a never-ending loop, constant reminders of the Beast I was.
The Beast I may still be.
I’d accepted my judgment without question. Agreed to live a mortal life. I didn’t know my memories would come with me; didn’t know I’d relive them every day.
Death would have been more merciful.
The leather journal still sits on my table, dust collecting on the cover. I grab it, again caressing the binding. Use this to remember who you are. Gabriel’s words repeat in Nesy’s voice.
Remember who you are…
A lone tear slithers down my cheek.
Can I do this?
I open the book, looking at the white linen of the pages. They call to me, begging to be written on. I have nothing left to lose now. The pen gripped tightly in my hand, I begin to write…
I didn’t know being human would hurt so much. I feel so cut off. All of the time. And yet, my emotions consume me constantly.
The words pour onto the pages as I write my last confessions.
Forbidden love for a human who was an angel.
Fear of the Master who was the Beast.
Hatred for the angel who craved revenge.
Hatred for me.
I empty my soul into the book, one page at a time, until the sun sets.
Tired and vacant, I sleep a dreamless sleep.
At last.
Chapter 50 - Hope
Aydan
The day starts as every other, except somehow I am less afraid. Hopeful, even. I walk into class and sit at my no-longer-empty table. Books and notebooks spill over the desk. A notebook is open to pages of careless doodles. Pictures of wings. Angels and demons.
I can’t help but look at the drawings. Can’t help but remember that life.
A girl slides into the seat and cleans up the mess. She’s tall and lean. Shoulder-length black hair arranges itself into sharp angles around her face. Her pale skin looks almost translucent. Dark glasses cover her eyes. She ignores me completely and continues to shove her things into the bag.
“Hey,” I say, curious.
She nods and goes back to her books. The teacher begins a familiar lecture. Central Germany. 1500’s.
Why do teachers always want to discuss these legends?
A chuckle escapes as I remember the countless times I’ve heard this lecture. And how different the legends are from the truth.
The girl removes her sunglasses and furrows her brow. “Something funny?”
Her voice sounds like music. My heart stops as I look into her now visible eyes. Blue. Deep blue. Her gaze penetrates my soul and for a moment I can’t breathe.
She smiles. “Well? What’s so funny?”
I force myself to breathe in and out. In and out.
You died. I felt you die.
She looks at me, expecting an answer.
I breathe in and out. In and out.
It can’t be you.
“Um,” I manage to choke out. “Nothing.”
She smiles again, awakening something deep inside. I lean in and catch her scent—vanilla, lavender and sunshine.
“So, what’s your name?” she whispers.
My mouth refuses to work.
“I said, what’s your name?”
Her eyes are so blue. So familiar.
“Aydan.”
“Nice. It suits you,” she says. “I’m Vanessa. Most people just call me—”
“Nesy,” I finish.
“Actually, I was going to say Nessa. But Nesy works. I like it.”
I smile, lost in the endless blue ocean of her eyes. Maybe I will be okay in this life now.
With her.
Acknowledgements:
Writing this book was a journey within a journey. Countless moments of hope; countless moments of despair. Fortunately, I had many amazing people keeping me focused and helping me pursue this elusive endeavor:
To Heather McCorkle and the team at Compass Press ~ WOW, just wow. Your constant belief in the words on the page kept me going in the most difficult of times. Thank you for trusting that I could see this through and deliver a story as powerful as the one you saw in the raw words.
The earliest readers of the story ~ Elana Johnson and Michelle McLean. You two witnessed the birth of this story. You helped me find it and shape it. Told me when it sucked, helped me find Nesy’s voice. I am forever grateful in ways I will never be able to fully express.
My early Betas ~ Laura Diamond, Amanda Bonilla, Julie Butcher, Danyelle Leafty. You watched me query, watched me fail, and helped me retool the story into something more…so much more.
My later Betas ~ Ali Cross, LK Gardner-Griffie, Heather McCorkle. You all convinced me that this was worth being published. You understood Nesy and Aydan, and helped me keep my promises to them.
My teen readers ~ Fabiana Fonseca, Delaney Jures, Rebecca Lewis. Your belief that this story would happen helped in ways I can’t begin to explain. You helped me find a voice, a title, so many little things. THANK YOU! And yes, I am giving you three a copy of the book. I promise!
To the online community of writers, bloggers, readers and friends ~ all of you helped me navigate through the hazards and scale the mountain. Thank you for the support, the fellowship and the friendship. Thank you for reading my prequel and encouraging me to write more. I am truly more because of all of you.
And finally, to the foundation of my life ~ my husband, my children, my sister-in-law and my brothers-in-law, my dad and my mom. Your sacrifices, your confidence, your support of both my coffee and music habits…without all of you, this book would still be collecting dust on my hard drive.
About The Author
In addition to writing acclaimed non-fiction books related to giftedness, Christine writes novels for teens. Her debut YA Gothic series, The Requiem Series, examines the role of redemption and sacrifice. The prequel novella, DIES IRAE, is followed by the LACRIMOSA, the first novel in the series.
Christine lives in Southern California with her husband and daughters. When she's not helping adolescents deal with the transition to adulthood, or spending time with her family, she can be found sipping a skinny vanilla latte at her favorite coffee house, writi
ng her next book. She can be found on her website, or on her blog.
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